


Ev'ry Burden, Ev'ry Disadvantage

by Willowe



Series: automaton!AU [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, automaton Hamilton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 10:23:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5330684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willowe/pseuds/Willowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander came to New York looking for a new beginning, for a chance to study and advance himself, to move around free of the suspicions and stigma of being an automaton. </p><p>But to be treated like a normal human was always an impossible dream, one that was immediately ruined whenever someone saw his glass eyes or recognized the clicking of his gears whenever he made a sudden movement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ev'ry Burden, Ev'ry Disadvantage

**Author's Note:**

> An AU with Alexander Hamilton as an automaton. Because clearly our dear A.Ham didn't suffer enough as a human. 
> 
> ...I think this may actually be the happiest story I have planned for this series so uh. Enjoy it while it lasts.

"You are not quite human, are you, sir?"

Alexander's forced smile becomes just a little more brittle. He is not surprised that Burr picked up on the minute differences that make him immediately noticeable as an _other_ \- if anything, he's only surprised that it took the man this long to make some sort of comment about it. Perhaps it's Burr's attempt to be tactful, polite even in the face of a non-human such as Alexander.

The use of _sir_ , a novel experience for Hamilton, would certainly suggest that.

Alexander draws his spine up slightly straighter and answers, "No, sir, I am not. I am an automaton."

Burr's eyes widen in shock and Alexander braces himself for the usual round of invasive comments and questions. Alexander knows there are many like him in the world. General automatons number in the hundreds, if not thousands, he knows that. Machines that run on wind or candle heat or whale oil, made of metal and cloth and plaster. They're cold and unloving creations, amusement for the wealthy and nothing more.

Perhaps Burr will want to know of the extent of Alexander's abilities. No doubt he will want to know if he is one of the other automatons, the ones who are more than mere machines but still not quite living, capable of carrying out basic verbal instructions like a simple child completely the easiest chores in a household. They look like him, pigskin over a metal frame and glass eyes set deep in their sockets, but they're missing that spark that Alexander has that gives him the capacity for independent, rational thought.

Instead, Burr asks, "Where are you from, Mr. Hamilton?"

Alexander almost snorts in disbelief. _Mr._ Hamilton? Throwing in a polite title before his name is not enough to hide what he knows are Burr's true motives. "I assure you, all of my papers are legal and in order," he says, somewhat frostily. "I would be happy to show them to you, if you wish to see them."

"No, no that's not what I-" Burr sighs. "My apologies for any offense I have given. Can I buy you a drink, sir?"

"I do not require sustenance," is Alexander's automatic response. Burr blinks, obviously caught off-guard by that abrupt response, and Alexander is quick to back-track. "I mean... That would be... nice."

A bizarre offer, but nevertheless the illusion of being welcomed is agreeable to Alexander. For now, at least.

He walks a half-step behind Burr as the man walks down the street, leading the way to one of the city's many pubs. Many people glance at them as they walk by, and Alexander cannot tell if they are looking at the well-known Aaron Burr or if they too notice that Alexander is not quite human and are wondering what, exactly, he may be.

They settle in at a quiet table in the corner of the pub, Burr with a pint of beer in front of him and Alexander almost wishing that he was anywhere else in the city at the moment, rather than facing down what is sure to be an unpleasant conversation. "Am I correct in assuming that you wish to advance your place in society?" Burr asks after a moment of silence where both men are silently sizing each other up.

"Yes," Alexander confirms. "Is that not the hope of most men in this city?"

The corner of Burr's mouth quirks up in a faint smile. "I suppose it is," he admits. "Since my offer to share a drink was, perhaps, rather ill-conceived, I wonder if I could offer some advice in its stead?"

Alexander frowns. What advice could a man such as Burr want to give to an automaton like him? "By all means, go ahead," he finally says, torn between polite interest and a genuine curiosity.

Burr takes a sip of his drink, clearly weighing his words carefully, and Alexander has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. There is little that he finds more frustrating than the caution that humans constantly exhibit, the way they carefully guard their hearts and words. It is a luxury that he has never been afforded; as an automaton, he is expected to be transparent in all his dealings, to reach quick conclusions and remain sure of his course of action, all for the sake of the comfort of the humans around him.

Humans are allowed time to deliberate, to change their minds, to hide their true motives without fear of systematically being dismantled if they are discovered to have been lying. That Alexander cannot even voice his frustrations with this system without jeopardizing his very existence angers him more than he can even bear.

After a long minute of silence, Burr finally speaks. "If I were to give you any piece of advice, it would be this: Talk less."

"What?" Surely Alexander misheard what he said...

"Smile more," Burr continues. "Don't let people know what you stand for, or stand against."

Alexander stares at him in open shock. "You cannot be serious," he says. Is this Burr's idea of a joke? A cruel trick to play on the automaton who is still newly-arrived from the Caribbean? Extend an illusion of friendship, only to give the same advice that so many others have given Alexander over the course of his existence: Spend less time forming his own opinions, and more time charming the humans around him. Always with the familiar unspoken warning: One misstep, one misspoken word that angers the wrong man, and your life will be forfeit.

"You said yourself, you want to get ahead." If Burr is aware of the sudden change in Hamilton's demeanor, he does not call attention to it. "Fools who run their mouths off often wind up dead."

Alexander is about to ask if that's intended to be a threat, when there's a sudden shout from across the room that catches their attention and interrupts their conversation. Three young men are sitting at a table across the way, each several drinks in if Alexander had to guess, loudly shouting and joking about what they'd do if they ever caught up with one of the many British soldiers stationed across the city.

"Like I said," Burr says, motioning towards the trio with his own pint, and Alexander realizes that Burr's advice is just that- well-meaning words of wisdom to a newcomer in the city. The same advice he would no doubt give to any human, and not specific to an automaton at all.

Alexander doesn’t quite know what to make of this turn of events.

Unfortunately, Burr's gesturing catches the attention of the group. "Well, if it isn't the prodigy of Princeton college!" one of them shouts, directing the attention of the other two over to their table. "Aaron Burr! Come talk with us, share your wisdom!"

One of the speaker's friends snickers into his drink, and Alexander hears Burr's barely-contained sigh. "No thank you," he calls over politely. The three friends boo and, despite another long-suffering sigh from Burr, stand up from their table to walk over to theirs.

"You know I wish you well in all of your endeavors, but you are speaking openly and loudly of revolution," Burr says in a low voice as they approach. "You take a stand, if you wish. I will sit here, and see where the cards may fall."

"Revolution is imminent, Burr," one of the young men scoffs. "Why do you continue to stall?"

Alexander has heard enough of Burr’s overly cautious opinions. They sound too much like the orders he has been given for his entire life for them to sit well with him. "If you stand for nothing, Burr, what will you fall for?" he snaps, standing up and fully intending to leave this pub and this conversation.

He does not realize his mistake until he turns and finds his path blocked by the three young revolutionaries. "Who's this kid, Burr?" one asks.

Another one stares at him closely, frowning in confusion. " _What_ is he?" they ask.

"Mon Dieu," the third breathes, his voice carrying a distinct French accent. "An automaton. I did not expect to find such a well-made specimen here in the colonies!"

"An automaton?" the second speaker repeats, seemingly torn between confusion and curiosity.

Alexander holds himself very still, aware of the precarious position that he is in. One wrong move, another outburst of frustration, and he could very well find himself hauled away by the authorities. He would be lucky to find himself deported back to Nevis, if they did not decide to simply take it upon themselves demolish an abomination such as himself.

But the Frenchman glances over at him with an amused smile and asks, "Would you care to explain and introduce yourself, Monsieur Automaton, or shall I fill in my uneducated peers with what little I know of your kind?"

"Most humans do not care to hear me speak on my own behalf," he says slowly. "But I will gladly take the chance to do so now, if you will permit me to do so."

"By all means, go ahead," the first speaker says, motioning for Alexander to continue.

"Your friend speaks truthfully. I am indeed an automaton, one of the rare specimens who is capable of rational thought and speech," Alexander explains. It’s a well-rehearsed speech, albeit one that humans usually like to deliver rather than letter him speak for himself. "Like all such creations, I am built from metal and gears underneath my pigskin covering. I am a fully sentient being, though not born as humans are born."

"But how are you capable of such independent thoughts?" the second speaker asks. "How are you so..?"

"Life-like?" Alexander suggests. "Truthfully... I do not know. I have never seen the schematics for my own design. Whatever spark gives me life, such as it is, remains a mystery to me."

Not for a lack of effort on Alexander's part. He searched throughout Nevis and St. Croix for any information on his creation, but he never found anything. He knows what he is made of, and he knows that he must drink whale oil to continue to function properly, but he does not know how he came to exist with so many perfect human qualities.

He wishes he did know more, though, if only to satisfy the inevitable curiosity of others. Most people respond to such a lacking explanation with more invasiveness, wanting to know everything from who made him to asking if there was any way to open his body so they could see the gears and mechanisms that gave him movement. So Alexander is understandably surprised when the first response is a low whistle and an impressed, “ _Damn_ amazing, if you ask me.”

“Versailles has several such creations amongst the staff,” the Frenchman says.

“I had heard talk of such automatons while at my studies,” the second young man says. “Though I never expected to see one myself- and certainly not here in New York!”

They were starting to use that tone that grates on Alexander’s nerves, the one where he knows that they aren’t thinking of him as a sentient being anymore, but rather speaking of him as one might talk about a particularly fascinating home decoration.

“I will thank you for not speaking of me as if I am incapable of understanding your words,” he says stiffly. Such attempts at standing up for himself are usually met with laughter and an amused, but ultimately insincere, apology. It is only a marginally better reaction than the one he gets when he’s pushed to true anger; then, he is met with fear, and thinly veiled threats against his own life if he should lash out against humans again.

So he doesn’t immediately recognize the looks of contrition on the faces of the three revolutionaries, and he’s taken aback when the Frenchman says, “Our sincerest apologies, Monsieur Automaton. Any offense given was unintentional, and it will not happen again.”

“Also, I’m willing to bet that you name isn’t really ‘Monsieur Automaton’,” one of the other men says, rolling his eyes in the direction of the Frenchmen. “So, what is your name really?”

“Alexander Hamilton,” he says automatically, still staring at the trio with a little bit of shock. Just barely remembering his manners, he’s quick to add, “I’m sorry, and your names are…?”

“I’m John Laurens,” says the man who had asked about Alexander’s name. He motions to the man on his left and adds, “This is Hercules Mulligan, and this-” he motions to the Frenchman, “-is the Marquis de Lafayette. Don’t ask for his full name, you’ll never be able to remember it anyway.” Laurens holds out his hand to Alexander. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Alexander shakes his hand, the gears in his wrist audibly clicking at the movement. He can’t help but feel somewhat in a daze at this turn of events. Most people don’t react to meeting him like this. Most people don’t treat him like- like an actual _person_ like this. His current situation is so far outside of his normal encounters that he’s not sure how much he can actually trust it.

“What does bring you to New York, Hamilton?” Mulligan asks. “Here for work, or here for the revolution?”

“Ideally, a little of both,” Alexander responds. He can do this. He can have a normal conversation with a real human. He can do this. “I was studying at Princeton until- well, never mind, that’s not important. I suppose now I’m going to pursue scholarships at King’s College here in the city, though I would relish the opportunity to join the revolution if I would be permitted to do so.”

“If they let Lafayette join up, I don’t see why they wouldn’t allow you to do the same,” Laurens tells him.

“Most humans are not comfortable working alongside an automaton like myself,” Alexander explains. “I would not be surprised if any attempts I made to join a regiment would be politely declined.”

The only response to his words is a surprised silence, and it takes Alexander a moment to realize that Laurens was teasing a little, poking fun at his friend who obviously came from Europe just to fight in the newly-brewing war- and that he intended to include Alexander in the joke. Except Alexander ruined it by treating the jab like it was supposed to be part of a larger, more serious conversation.

“My apologies for bringing the conversation to such a sour note,” Alexander says quickly. He won’t apologize for forgetting his place, like he often had to when he spoke out of turn on Nevis, but even his pride can handle an insincere apology for ruining Laurens’ attempt at humor.

“You have no need to apologize,” Lafayette assures him.

“Really, I feel like I should be apologizing to you for making such a tactless joke,” Laurens adds. “It seems like we keep misspeaking around you, Hamilton, and I am sincerely sorry for that.”

Alexander looks between the three revolutionaries, glances over at Burr who has largely remained silent in this new conversation but who has not left or tried to speak over Alexander in any way. “Most people don’t care if they show any tact around me,” he says slowly. “I’m afraid I’m not sure what the correct response to this is.”

“Well at least we’re on equal footing, since apparently none of us know what to say or do in this situation either,” Laurens tells him. He claps Alexander on the shoulder, startling the automaton with such a familiar gesture, and asks, “Care to join us for a drink, and more conversation? You seem bright enough to have an opinion on this political storm brewing in the colonies…”

“If by ‘political storm’ you mean the King’s frankly ridiculous policy of taxing us without representation, then spending our money as he will without our input, then yes I have opinions,” Alexander scoffs, before he can even think to censor his words- though, given the earlier conversation amongst these friends, before they walked over to speak to Burr, he suspects that he does not have to worry about what he says.

Laurens’ eyes light up. “So you agree, then? That revolution is unavoidable?”

“Absolutely,” Alexander says firmly. “By the end of the century, without a doubt, although if I were a betting man I would guess closer to within a few years. The current tensions cannot continue without a release, and when it comes it will undoubtedly lead to a war- one that I, for one, fully intend to fight in if at all possible.”

“If the colonies raise a war against Britain, I doubt they will be in any position to turn away volunteers, however unconventional,” Laurens tells him.

Lafayette laughs. “I hope so, or else I have crossed the sea for nothing!”

Mulligan groans, and rolls his eyes at the Frenchman. “Every time you tell that joke, it gets less and less amusing,” he says. “Though Hamilton, in all seriousness, they’d have to let you join up. We’ll vouch for you, if we have to, but like Laurens said they’d have to be crazy to turn away volunteers.”

“You would vouch for me?” Alexander asks in surprise. “Why? You hardly know me.”

“We know you have a brain in that head of yours that could rival some of the people sitting in at the Continental Congress now,” Laurens tells him. “You have the same passion we do. If you want to fight and lay down your life for a greater cause, who are we to stop you?”

“I mean, look at us. You are currently in conversation with a tailor, the son of a plantation owner turned abolitionist, and Lafayette, who we already established is a little not right in the head,” Mulligan explains.

Lafayette elbows him in the side. “You are incredibly rude today, mon ami,” he chides.

“Lafayette, you bought your own ship to come here against your family’s order and a decree from the king,” Mulligan points out. “You bought the cargo on the ship just so it wouldn’t stop down in the West Indies, because you were so afraid of being arrested at the docks!”

A spike of fear goes through Alexander at the mention of his home, though he doesn’t let himself show any reaction.

“He has a point, Gilbert,” Laurens chimes in. “Your reactions so far have been a little, shall we say, extreme?”

Lafayette splutters, obviously trying to come up with some sort of response to justify his actions and salvage his dignity. Alexander can’t help but burst out laughing at the look on his face, at the teasing between these three friends, at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation he finds himself in. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologizes between chuckles. “I am just not usually included in such familiar conversations like this.”

“You can still back out, before these men begin to insult your honor,” Lafayette tells him, rolling his eyes as Laurens and Mulligan dissolve into a fit of giggles themselves.

“Or you can all back out, before this talk gets you shot,” Burr says, finally rejoining the conversation. “If you keep out of trouble, you’ll double your choices and double your chances of surviving whatever the future brings.”

“Burr, why would we be quiet when we have _everything_ on our side?” Alexander challenges. He feels like the fire inside him is roaring to life, being fed by the enthusiasm of these new friends who are supporting him, laughing with him, treating him like an equal. “When war arrives we will fight, and we will win. Do you not see the number of people in the streets having similar conversations? The number of men who are also willing to rise up? The true test will not be in our ability to defeat Britain in a war, but in building a new nation out of these colonies. We cannot only ensure our own independence, but the independence of the next generation! We need a central government, a national financial system, and-”

“And this is where I take my leave of the conversation,” Burr interrupts smoothly. “I am sure I will see all of you again soon.”

“He’s always like that,” Lafayette mutters as Burr walks away. “Never in a rush to commit to anything, always hiding what he really thinks…”

“But when he’s on your side, you can’t go wrong,” Laurens adds. “He’s a damn good debater, there’s no denying that.”

“Yeah, if you can get him to ever debate with you,” Mulligan scoffs. “Come on, enough talk of Burr. More drinking, and more talk of revolution!”

“If you have too much more to drink, you won’t be able to talk about anything,” Lafayette teases as the group, now with Alexander in tow, makes their way back to their table.

“Then we get Hamilton in front of the crowd instead,” Laurens says. “You are a force to be reckoned with when you speak, and I would put money on you being an excellent writer as well.”

Alexander thinks of the essay he wrote that unexpectedly garnered him enough support to send him to the colonies, a trip that otherwise would have been impossible for the penniless automaton. “My writing is of the highest quality,” he admits, with no small amount of pride.

“I would very much enjoy reading some of it,” Laurens tells him. “Neither Lafayette nor Mulligan has the inclination towards essay-writing like I have, and I fear I have bored them half to death with forcing them to read my own words!”

“What subjects do you write upon, if you do not mind me asking?” Alexander asks with no small amount of curiosity.

“Abolition, mostly,” Laurens admits. “I am the son of a wealthy plantation owner, as Mulligan said earlier, however I have come to find the practice most deplorable.”

“As do I,” Alexander murmurs. He knows his own position cannot be compared to that of a slave; he, at least, has his freedom even if it was begrudgingly granted and precariously held. Still, he knows what it is like to be considered an outsider amongst humans; he would much prefer to live in a society with true equality amongst all the members, regardless of their background or origins.

“And I’d imagine you are not too fond of the suggestion that automatons be used in place of humans slaves,” Laurens continues.

Alexander has to suppress a shudder at the very idea. “ _No_ ,” he says vehemently. “No sentient creature should be forcibly subjugated under another person, no matter if they be man-made or human-born. Perhaps a war with Britain, where we fight for our own political freedom, will remind our fellow men of that fact.”

“Doubtful,” Mulligan says. “But still, we can hope.”

Alexander has never seen much point in hoping. Hope alone isn’t enough to change anything. _Hoping_ that people accept him as an automaton doesn’t change the whispers that follow him wherever he goes, the people who call him an abomination and an affront to God. Hope wasn’t enough to get him off of Nevis, and it won’t be enough to win the war.

“I’d rather lay down my life for our freedom, instead of wasting my time hoping that it changes on its own,” Alexander declares. “I may not live to see our glory, but I will still gladly join in this fight!”

Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan all cheer, and toast their pints of beer to his words.

Alexander doesn’t have a heart that can be warmed by their actions, but he is nevertheless struck by the fact that, somehow, he seems to have stumbled upon a group of friends for the first time in his life.

“We have to find you something to toast with, Hamilton!” Mulligan says, nudging him gently and laughing. “Something you can raise up in celebration of the four of us!”

“And everyone who will be joining us in the days to come!” Lafayette adds cheerfully.

Not only friends, but friends who seem willing to accept him without question, who seem willing to embrace the differences in him that other people shy away from.

“Raise a glass to freedom!” Laurens shouts, garnering a chorus of cheers from the other people in the pub. “Something they can never take away!”

Freedom. Alexander came to New York looking for a new beginning, for a chance to study and advance himself, to move around free of the suspicions and stigma of being an automaton. To be treated like a normal human was always an impossible dream, one that was immediately ruined whenever someone saw his glass eyes or recognized the clicking of his gears whenever he made a sudden movement.

Now, to have four people so willing to accept him like this, Alexander is torn between wanting to accept it without question and being afraid of what the catch may be. Because there’s always a catch, always something standing in his way no matter what he does. And maybe that’s the fate of an automaton like himself, to always be deemed a second-class citizen when in the company of real humans, but if these young revolutionaries are sincere in their offer of friendship…

Laurens slings an arm over Alexander’s shoulders. “I mean what I said,” he says in a low voice, obviously meant for Alexander’s ears alone. “Your freedom isn’t something they can take away. No matter what they tell you. You have every right to be here and fighting in this revolution as we do, my friend. And I will not let anyone tell you otherwise.”

It’s a naïve statement. Laurens has never had someone threaten to dismantle him because his passionate speaking made too many people wary. Laurens has never had to grit his teeth while people speak of him as if he wasn’t truly alive at all. Laurens doesn’t have to keep legal documents hidden carefully away in a compartment in his abdomen, always on hand in case someone chooses to question his freedom or his very right to exist.

But it’s a statement made with complete sincerity, and Alexander knows that the man is completely serious in his offer to stand in solidarity with Alexander should he ever need that kind of assistance.

And for an automaton who’s never had anyone willing to side with him at all, that is more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as an Almost Human AU that quickly took on a life of it's own. If you're familiar with that show, Hamilton is similar to Dorian/DRNs. Other automatons exist that would be similar to an MX. (Basically, Alexander is "too human" in his actions, which makes people nervous so they're constantly threatening to destroy him if he doesn't toe the line. In typical Alexander Hamilton form, he plays the system to his benefit as much as he can.)
> 
> Some other notes on automaton!Hamilton:
> 
> -How was he made? How he is even alive? *vague handwavey movements and uncertain shrugging*  
> -The comment about needing to drink whale oil in order to survive is a nod to some article I read while researching stuff about a proposed steampunk-esque genre, only with whale oil in pre-Industrial Revolution times instead of steam as an energy source.  
> -Basically Hamilton is made of gears and cogs, with an internal fire that feeds on the whale oil to produce heat to make his body move correctly.  
> -Other details to be elaborated on in later stories so I don't want to spoil too much now? But if something about the logistics of this 'verse is unclear, let me know and I'll do my best to answer questions!
> 
> I actually have about 2-3 other stories already mostly finished in this 'verse, so updates should be fairly frequent for awhile.
> 
> Come talk to me about automaton!AU stuff on tumblr: willowenimga.tumblr.com


End file.
